


i feel my own heart's blood leave me

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [27]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:32:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Jamie's reaction when Germain tells him that Claire had been abducted and Marsali hurt by the bandits. (from A Breath of Snow and Ashes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i feel my own heart's blood leave me

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt sent in to [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/139058008103/imagine-jamie-reaction-when-germain-tells-him-that) on tumblr. I'm posting my Imagine prompts here on AO3 for easier reading and in case there's anyone here who might not be on tumblr. Do feel free to check out the blog and send in prompts if you have more ideas for our favorite pair!

He was dead. He had to be – to feel so much pain. So much emptiness. So much rage. 

As soon as wee Germain had come running from the whisky spring as fast has his little legs could carry him – as soon as he had calmed the boy enough to realize just exactly what had happened – as soon as he’d dispatched Brianna to tend to Marsali and quietly asked Mrs. Bug to fetch her husband – as soon as he’d dipped his fingers in the still-warm ashes of the hearth, headless of the flames, to darken his face with soot (remembering another battle, another time, when he’d done so) – as soon as Ian had quietly stepped beside him and blackened his own face – as soon as the weight of it all _hit_ him, like that axe Dougal had slammed into the back of his skull so many years before – he’d let himself feel. 

Not now. Not when every fiber in his being strained for action. Not when he had to draw on every cold, calculating measure he’d ever learned from his grandsire, uncles, and jailors – to save that which was most precious to him in all the world. 

He looked up as Roger Mac stepped into the kitchen and soundlessly lay his bhodran on the table. Watched him tie up his dark, glossy hair – Dougal’s hair – in a leather thong before dipping his own fingers in the ashes. 

“Tom Christie’s just outside,” Arch murmured from somewhere behind him. “The others – ” 

_“No need. This is a private matter. This vengeance will be mine. I will not darken your souls with the stain of my sins.”_

Why was his language so formal? Was it French? The _Gaidhlig_? No matter – the men understood. 

_“They are sins we will gladly bear, o Uncle,”_ Ian’s voice whispered. 

His heart clenched – full of guilt, of responsibility, of regret. Yet he turned to face them – eyes bright in his darkened face, skin quivering in anticipation. 

_“Will you bless us, Roger, son of my heart?”_

Roger blinked – in surprise or shock, he did not care – and extended his hand over Arch, Ian, and Jamie. He murmured a prayer in the Latin – a Catholic prayer – and the blessing of St. Michael. 

Jamie squeezed his shoulder in appreciation – and gathered the satchel of bannocks and cheese Mrs. Bug had prepared for him – and strode through the door, leading his men to war.


End file.
